


Sign Here Part III

by IAmANonnieMouse



Series: Sign Here [3]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Crack, M/M, One-Shot, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-10-09 17:21:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10417179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmANonnieMouse/pseuds/IAmANonnieMouse
Summary: “Look at it this way, darling,” Eames says. “You have a suit now, and you’ve found work to do.”Arthur tugs at the sleeves of his suit. “It doesn’t fit right,” he says. “I can’t wait until my tailor dies.”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [booskerdu (pureimaginatrix)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pureimaginatrix/gifts), [lunylovegoodlover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunylovegoodlover/gifts).



> _I feel like we need more, like watching Arthur whip Hell into shape and get promoted to Lucifer_  
>  ~[Booskerdu (pureimaginatrix)](http://archiveofourown.org/users/pureimaginatrix/pseuds/booskerdu)
> 
>  _He's going to have taken over the afterlife by the time Eames is dead, isn't he? Eames would be so tickled to be consort to the king of hell._  
>  ~[Lunylovegoodlover](https://lunylovegoodlover.tumblr.com/)

Being dead is horribly anticlimactic.

When Arthur thought about it, he had always assumed Eames would be with him, which in hindsight, was a terrible thought, really. But it’s true: he had always assumed he and Eames would die together, most likely killed in a Hollywood-worthy battle involving cars, guns, and goons.

Arthur’s death did involve cars—or rather, _a_ car—so maybe he shouldn’t complain.

But still.

It doesn’t help that the Devil isn’t remotely interested in the well-being of its enterprise. Dead souls are going to keep coming to it whether it takes good care of them or not. If this were real life, it would have gone bankrupt by now, but money isn’t exactly a thing in the afterlife, either.

“Hello?” Arthur had called after the Devil arrived to whisk him away to Hell. “What am I supposed to be doing, exactly?”

The Devil shrugged. _Scare people. Sort out any paperwork if any other idiots sell me their souls. Mingle with the dead. I don’t really care._

So Arthur mingled—it was painful trying to interact with dead souls—and sorted paperwork—the only papers other than his and Eames’ were from the fifteenth century, so Arthur felt they were more or less obsolete—and visited Eames.

Except it’s been a few weeks now, and Arthur is _so_ bored he’s considering jumping off a building just to see what happens.

He stalks into the Devil’s Lair, which is actually just a small room with beanbag chairs decorated with skulls. “Listen, are you gonna get mad at me if I make some changes?”

The Devil glances up from the sitcom it’s watching. _What kind of changes?_

Arthur shrugs. “Like, if I wear a suit instead of these ridiculous things?” He plucks at the tattered fabric hanging off his shoulders. “And if I started making files on the dead souls here? And on the ones you’ve marked as damned?”

 _Oh,_ those _kinds of changes._ The Devil shrugs and turns up the volume on its sitcom. _As long as you don’t free any of the damned or start a soul revolt, I don’t care what you do._

Arthur nods and goes to work.

First, he finds the dead soul of a tailor and gets a new suit. It doesn’t fit as well as his old ones, but it’s better than nothing.

Then, he finds lots of notebooks—not Moleskines, because nobody knows how to appreciate Moleskines in Hell—and starts making his records.

“Listen to this,” he tells Eames when he visits him that night. He cracks open his notebook. “Violetta Mansvoli. Forty-five. Killed her husband because he didn’t say please when he asked for the butter.”

Eames snorts. “Why am I thinking of _Chicago_ now?”

Arthur sighs. “This is just…I am _so bored._ ”

“Look at it this way, darling,” Eames says. “You have a suit now, and you’ve found work to do.”

Arthur tugs at the sleeves of his suit. “It doesn’t fit right,” he says. “I can’t wait until my tailor dies.”

Eames laughs. “So morbid, darling.”

“And they don’t have Moleskines in Hell.”

“Ah, well I do have a solution for that.” Eames climbs out of bed and goes into the closet. He emerges with a small box. “Here you go, love. All your Moleskines. There’s a few blank ones in there, too.”

Arthur takes it. Eames’ index finger slides through Arthur’s.

Eames smiles ruefully. “Promise you’ll save some fun for me?” he asks. “I can’t let you have all the adventures on your own.”

Arthur smiles back. “I promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> Leave me more comment ideas, I'm saving them all! The more comments I get, the more fics you get in return! ;D


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